


whatever words come to mind

by waferkya



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waferkya/pseuds/waferkya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Agron gets there, the Arena is, as usual, thoroughly packed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whatever words come to mind

When Agron gets there, the Arena is, as usual, thoroughly packed; some shitty post-punk or something noisy fucking band is playing random crap on the stage, mostly off key, and Agron has to elbow his way through the crowd to get to his usual corner booth. He spots Mira from a distance and raises a hand to wave at her, and of course he manages to step onto three different people's feet in the process. When none of them turns around to scream at him for being walked over, though, he keeps going; no harm's done, and also trying to explain himself and apologize would be quite the task, given the amount of sheer noise in the room.  
  
With something quite akin to a roar, Agron finally rips himself free of the cheering herd of insane – and clearly deaf – people, and he tugs at the hems of his vest, randomly glaring over his shoulder. Mira laughs, sliding further down the bench to make room.  
  
"My ears are fucking bleedin', man," Agron huffs, dropping into the booth with the grace of a thousand pounds of lead. Spartacus, sitting right across from him, gives him a small, amused smile, which instantly has Agron grin like a fool on 'shrooms because, hey, a smile from Spartacus is pretty much like a hearty laughter from anyone else in the room.  
  
"Did you lose Duro in the crowd?" Mira asks him, and Agron turns around to frown at her.  
  
"Fuck no, I did not," he says; there's no way in Hell or Heaven he would ever, ever lose his little brother anywhere in the world, in fact, let alone a small shitty place like this, and Mira of all people should know better than that. She laughs, shaking her head.  
  
"Yeah, of course, my bad. So, he's not coming?"  
  
"He had a… date, or something," Agron rolls his eyes, wriggles his fingers a bit. "I don't know, I think we're losing him to those… fucking science books of evil."  
  
"Or maybe, you know, he actually had a date," Spartacus says, his eyebrows arched in that unsufferable mocking face he makes sometimes. Agron gives him his best blank face.  
  
"Really? Duro? A date?" he says, matter-of-are-you-fucking-serious-dude-factly. Spartacus actually laughs at that, a small, throaty sound which makes Agron's eyebrow shoot all the way up to his hairline. Woah. Someone's definitely in a good mood; a sexytimes-from-dusk-till-dawn good mood, without any doubt.

Mira tenses, too, for a moment; she's enough pressed up against Agron's side for him to notice. He purses his lips at that; he would've gladly toasted to Spartacus getting laid, but it occurs to him it could be quite tactless to bring up such a topic, so, to Hell with his selfish greed for alcohol.

Also, there's no fucking drink on their table.

"Hey," Agron says, frowning in disbelief. "Where's the beer at?"

"Where's the bee— oh, God," Mira groans, her eyes at the ceiling. "Could you be any more of an oaf? No, shut up, I don't wanna know," she adds, when he grins like a mad man and is more than ready to show off exactly how much of a lumbering oaf he can be, if he wants to.

"We were waiting for you to show up," Spartacus says, always the party pooper. Agron pulls a face; delaying the joys of the gods' nectar because of the absence of a friend?

"I have no idea why I hang out with you guys," he says, mildly outraged. Mira slaps him on the arm, hard, while Spartacus just shakes his head. "So it's only the three of us?"

Spartacus coughs into his fist.

"Crixus and Naevia, they, uh… they went to the bathroom," Mira explains, and even in the dim lights of the club Agron can see she's blushing. "A while ago."

"Fucking ace," Agron grins, and Spartacus chokes on his own breath.

"Yeah, very polite of them, too," Mira says, smirking. "Anyway, Naevia wanted a coke and some chips, Crixus asked for… what was that again?"

"A pint of Fischer," Spartacus supplies, dutiful; she snaps her fingers, nods.

"Yup, that was it."

"Fucking Gaul," Agron mutters, and then he realizes both Mira and Spartacus are staring like they expect him to hang the fucking moon or something. "What?"

"I'll take a triple cheeseburger, and a soda," Spartacus says, perfectly serious.

"Half a pint of Guinness for me, thanks," Mira chimes in, and Agron honestly doesn't get it.

"I'm not one of your fucking waiters," he protests, and just as he says it he winces because, oh, now he gets it. Fuck. The two grinning bastards don't even need to waste a word about puns of fucking waiters or anything, he's blushing already. "Oh, fuck you guys."

"You're very much welcome," Mira says, with a magnanimous nod and Agron growls, somewhere extremely low in his throat; nevertheless, he leans out of the booth, looking down the narrow sort of aisle that divides the row of tables from the scary pit with all the jumping people just a few feet away.

Two booths down from their corner, there goes a waiter. He's taking orders on a smart tablet thing, seems pretty focused on the shiny screen, but Agron waves messily enough to catch his eye; he turns around, Agron makes a clumsy gesture pointing at their table and some shit, and the waiter maybe hopefully perhaps really gives him a small, quick smile before nodding and turning again to the table he's standing about.

"I think he saw me," Agron says, shifting back to a position that's not killing his spine. Mira is giggling, Spartacus propped his chin onto his hand and he looks like he's having the fucking time of his life. "I hate you guys so much."

"Yeah, we know that," Spartacus says; shit, he can be so annoying when he's all high on endorphines because of sex. Agron takes a mental note to seriously talk Sura into breaking up with him – not that it'd ever work, of course, because he tried, and Crixus tried before him, Varro did too and basically everyone fucking tried at least once because a happy Spartacus, all ridiculously handsome and smiling and happy, is a constant pain in the ass, especially to those who are not equally blessed with a gorgeous, sexy, perfect partner like Sura, - but he's not even finished pouting when the waiter shows up right there next to his fucking elbow, mother of God.

"Hey guys," he says, all dark skin turning golden in the soft lights of the club, dark eyes and darker hair to match and of course a narrow, bony waist that makes Agron's hands itch because God how much he wants to dip his fingers into those jeans and just squeeze. Yeah. "What can I get you?"

He also has a bit of an accent, something exotic and drop dead hot and Agron is quite distracted, okay, because Mira elbows him in the side and Spartacus kicks him under the table. Right, placing orders. Placing orders is important.

"Yeah, uh, hi," Agron says, and he really can't help the goofy grin that splits his face the moment he actually looks up at the waiter – Nasir, okay, his name is Nasir and Agron is definitely not a stalker, he just knows a guy who knows a guy who… yeah. He needs to put something in his fucking hands – something different from Nasir's hips or his ass or his anything, thank you very much, - so he grabs one of the menus neglected in a corner of the table – they basically live here and whatever's written in there hasn't changed in years; he flips randomly through the pages, feigning interest. "So, we'll have a… wait, how many cokes, guys?"

"One," Spartacus sighs, and then he turns to Nasir, his hands crossed on the table. "And half a pint of Guinness, a soda, a pint of Filcher and," he doesn't even bother looking at Agron, which is extremely unnerving. "The biggest bottle of Heineken you have."

Nasir's mouth gives a hint of a smile at that, he taps away their orders and then looks up from the tablet – he looks at Agron, for a moment, the corners of his lips still barely curved upwards.

"Anything to eat?"

Good God, his accent is doing delicious things to Agron's head. And also to the head sticked on top of his neck.

"Yeah," Mira sighs, and she gives him their orders for food while Agron is very very busy staring at Nasir's lips. Yup, that was definitely a smile.

"Okay, that would be all?" Nasir asks, slightly tilting his head to one side. Spartacus and Mira nod, Agron just keeps staring, so he presses his lips into a tight, polite smile. "Good."

"Would be better if you joined us," Agron says, dropping out of his reverie; Nasir was about to walk away but he stills in the middle of a step and frowns, bemused. Agron can feel Mira's eyes boring into the back of his skull, and Spartacus judging him soooo hard from across the table, so he forces a bright smile. Nasir huffs the smallest, most adorable of puzzled chuckles.

"I, uh… work here?" he says, a tad unsure. Agron's smile just widens.

"We can get you fired," he replies; brilliant, really. Mira doesn't even bother herself with subtlety, she just facepalms behind his back. Spartacus is this close to punching him through the motherfucking wall, and God only knows why Nasir hasn't called the cops yet.

"I… would rather you didn't," he scrunches up his nose a bit, gee, he's so lovely and he doesn't even look mad, just perplexed but somehow pleased? Or maybe it's Agron's brain trying to spare him some pain.

"Yeah, sure," Agron says, nodding like it's no big deal. Nasir gives him a weird look, like he doesn't really know what to think of him, and he finally walks away, shaking his head a bit. Maybe he's laughing.

"Fuck, I think he hates me," Agron says, staring at his back.

"You don't say," Spartacus muses, under his breath.

"Nah, I don't think he does," Mira says, patting his arm, and he turns around to look at her because Nasir slipped away from his sight around a corner so, yeah. "It's more like he took pity of you."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better?" Agron exclaims, and she shrughs.

"It's not," and he doesn't call her the b word just because she's smiling and her eyes go all sorts of soft when she does. She's pretty and Spartacus is an idiot because, ugh, threesomes! What's better than a threesome?

The coupling couple finally shows up, perfectly neat and tidy like nothing's happened. Crixus scowls at Agron in greeting, Naevia kisses both his cheeks and then they squeeze themselves into the booth on Spartacus' side, forcing him to back the fuck up until his side is pressed to the wall. Shitty narrow tables and narrower benches, good for business but deadly to the bones of customers. And yet, even if the owners of this shithole place insist in packing it to the maximum and then some more, they keep coming back.

After a moment's thought, anyway, Naevia shifts to basically sit into Crixus' lap, giving Spartacus some space to actually move his arms or, you know, breathe.

Agron smiles, even as Mira tells the tale of how he managed – once again - to embarrass himself and the whole race of humans to the waiter taking their orders.

*

Agron doesn't get to properly talk to Nasir again; some ravishing blonde chick comes back with their food and drinks, she eyes Spartacus up and down like he's some kind of unworldly vision of handsome, – which he most probably is, alright, – and, of course, it earns her a long, uncomfortable glare from Mira. Agron finds himself hiding a chuckle into his fist, his heart lifted, for a brief moment, from worried thought of Nasir maybe avoiding their table or something.

Agron doesn't see him attending any other booth, however, so it might just be that his shift ended; he wills himself to relax, then, and tunes into the on-going conversation – sports, of course. He steals chips from Naevia's plate, gives Spartacus his best puppy eyes in order to win a bite of his burger and he gets a properly cut slice instead, thank you Sura for the amazing effect you have on the King of Manpain; Crixus insults him and he insults back, in their usual cheerful and friendly-yet-quite-not-so manner, and Mira slaps him on the arm four more times before it's time to finally go home.

The crappy band is long gone, the crash of dying instruments promptly replaced by a random selection of classic rock which Agron couldn't be more grateful for, and the frightening, screaming crowd disappeared from sight as well, so that now the Arena almost looks like a nice, decent club.

Agron is the first to get to his feet, and he shrugs on his vest, which he really does not remember taking off. The beer on a mostly empty stomach makes him feel like his brain is clumsily trying to swim its way out of his ears, but it's not an unwelcome thing. Mild drunkness brings him a swollen kind of serenity, so it's good.

"C'mon, big boy, it's time to go," Naevia says, patting his elbow, because apparently he froze next to the table with a very dopey grin on his face. Agron chuckles, turns to follow her and the rest of the group and that's when he notices the bar, far off in the opposite corner of the place.

More than a dozen customers are still hanging around there, — it's not really that late, as Agron would know if he ever bothered checking his watch, – nursing their drinks and munching on stale peanuts, angsting or laughing or flirting, but that's not the point; the point, and also the reason Agron's heart is doing funny things to him, is that the bartender is dark of skin, and there's a lock of his long, black hair that keeps falling into his eyes, no matter how many times he brushes it away.

Agron, see, has a bit of a crush. However, the problem is that, as a rule, he can't help but making a fool out of himself with anyone he likes. He's kind of awkward, that is; his sense of humor is one of a kind and perhaps his pick-up lines are not the smoothest ever, which that is why his success rate skyrockets whenever he gets no chance to talk.

Of course, he's walking towards the bar to make conversation even before thinking about it. Fuck his friends who don't do anything to stop him, really; instead, they all grin, sit back and get ready to enjoy the show. Last time Agron got bitchslapped in under three minutes; they know he can do better.

Nasir is busy pouring a bright pink something into a glass, when Agron reaches the bar. He serves it to a lonely-looking lady, along with a kind smile, and Agron's chest feels suddenly too tight. He waves, when Nasir turns away from the woman; Nasir blinks, his sympathetic expression melting into something softer. He walks over to Agron immediately.

"Hey," he says, under his breath, shuffling some stuff behind the counter.

Agron doesn't even try to hold back the smile that splits his face.

"Hi," he nods, leaning onto his elbows. In the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of customers are looking at them rather curiously, and mentally curses them all when he realizes he's blushing. Fucking voyeurs. "Hey, look, I… I'm sorry about… what I said. I was, huh, joking, sort of. I guess I'm a fucking idiot," he tries to laugh it off, but Nasir offers him a rather sweet little grin.

"It's okay," he tells Agron, and his eyes are unbelievably dark and, like, huge. Wow.

"Yeah?" Agron says, his voice a little crunchy. He's staring. "You don't mind fucking idiots, then?" Nasir actually blushes and looks away, biting back a smile; Agron flounders. "No, wait, I didn't mean… fucking fucking, just. Huh. You don't mind idiots, that is. You don't, right?"

Nasir gives in to laughter, briefly and sort of shyly.

"I don't mind fucking idiots," he tells him, looking up from under his lashes, his eyes soft.

Agron smiles with something very much like a promise on his lips.

"Alright," he says. "I'll see you, then."

Nasir nods, amused; Agron grins at him some more, then walks away.

Shit, that was lame. And also awesome.

*

"He's a hipster little thing, isn't he, your Nasir," Naevia says, one day, completely out of the blue. She and Agron are having a very late lunch at the small cafeteria in front of their university, and Agron looks up from his salad for a moment, to give her a quick smile. He hasn't really grasped the meaning of hipster yet, but she sounded like she was making a compliment, and that's cool, really. As long as she keeps her appreciation where Agron can hear and, more significantly, where Crixus can't. The last thing Agron wants or needs is for the fucking Gaul to go on a possessive-boyfriend-with-serious-trust-issues kind of rampage over his favourite waiter in the history of waiters.

"He really isn't mine," Agron tells her, anyway, when he's properly swallowed a huge bite of fried chicken; his salads are not just regular salads, it's more like a feast of meat with some crunchy carrots thrown in there somewhere.

Naevia makes an uncommitted, distracted sound, and Agron looks up again.

"What?"

She snaps out of it, gives him a smug grin.

"He takes his coffee with quite a lot of sugar," she says; Agron turns around so quickly his neck actually hurts and there he goes, Nasir, standing at the cafeteria's counter, a mere few feet away, emptying what looks like the fourth sugar packet into a large cup of something.

"Fuck," Agron breathes, as the urge to be ridiculous and inappropriate starts swelling in his chest. Perhaps he'll say something about fucking people from behind, this time.

"Go talk to him," Naevia laughs softly, kicking him under the table. Agron lays down his weapons – fork and knife, - wipes his mouth and then he's going, nice and brave, sucking his gut in like a fucking gladiator or something.

"Hey," he says, leaning into the counter right next to Nasir; Nasir doesn't jump, really, not exactly. He was, however, lost in his thoughts enough that it takes him a moment to realize someone's speaking to him.

He looks up from his cup – tea, judging by the color and the scent of it, - blinks twice, and finally, when he takes in Agron's grinning face, he gives him a small, amused quirk of lips.

"Hi," he says, nodding a little, and then he turns back to his tea. Agron, luckily for him, is not easily discouraged by other people's shyness.

"May I ask you what's your name?" he says, cocking his head to the side a little; Nasir looks up – fuck, he's deliciously small, now that Agron is finally standing right next to him, - a tiny smile still ghosting over his lips.

"Nasir," he tells him, and Agron gives him a slow nod, pretending he didn't know that much already, that he's weighing the news. "I wear a tag, you know, at work," and he's grinning now, all smug and handsome. "It has my name on it."

"You do?" Agron blinks; he really didn't see it, not even once, as engrossed as he usually is in staring at Nasir's face, his hands or his hips at best. "I'm not a very observant person. And my name's Agron, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Nasir says, polite but genuine. Agron grins some more, leans further into the counter and, even though he'd be perfectly happy to just stay there and stare at Nasir drinking his tea, he makes attempt at conversation.

He is clumsy, he's ridiculous, he's a failure at flirting but he makes Nasir laugh, more than once, so it's probably okay.

*

Agron goes back to the Arena that night, together with Duro and a bunch of his noisy teenage friends; his excuse is that he's there to watch out for his little brother, but really? He just knows Nasir is working tonight – this is in no way stalkery, seriously, - and he wants to see him.

Truth is, Agron doesn't really do crushes, or courting, or anything; when the urges need him to, he has flings – meaning that he phisicaly flings himself at people, hoping they'll catch him and keep him for no more than a couple of nights, - but he's a runner, always careful to make it a hundred percent clear from the beginning that, no, a serious relationship is really not his thing.

Except this time, it may be. And it's also insane.

He doesn't know Nasir, not in the slightest, because the longest conversation they ever had was about the size of the beer someone else would've brought to Agron; and, actually? Mira did most of the talking, that time.

So, they're little more than strangers and Agron is already obsessed; he has been for two whole weeks, which is also the time Nasir has been working at the Arena, and it's a first. It's the first time someone has held his interest for so long, and with so little footage. With so little effort, even.

Agron doesn't really spare anyone a second glance, once he has assessed beauty or the firm curve of an ass; with Nasir, instead, that first night Agron found his eyes wandering to him again and again, lingering and searching for something – perhaps a sign of acknowledgement, - which he didn't really find. So, he kept coming back.

And he's back tonight, as well.

A different band is on stage, thanks to the gods, and they're not even that bad.

"Hey!" Duro shouts into Agron's ear, as they're crossing the crowd; "I had no idea they were playing tonight, did you know?"

Agron, who hasn't done much, since they got in, except staring in the general direction of the tables, actually tears his eyes from the still-out-of-reach subject of his interest to take a quick look at the band.

Gannicus is sprawled on his back on the stage, hips arched up and thrusting to meet his mic's pole as he, as usual, effectively drives insane the first five or six rows of the audience; Agron has no idea whether it's because of his voice – a fucking good one, he can admit as much in the privacy of his own mind, - or his body – which is just as fine, alright, - or his complete lack of decency or a combination of them all and then some more. He shakes his head, keeps going.

Duro and his friends all squeeze themselves in a booth, but Agron would chop off a leg and an arm before sitting with such kids; he waves in their general direction and then he's off, looking for a little man with the most gentle smile.

He just wants to make sure Nasir didn't lie about his name tag thing, that's all.

*

They meet for coffee three days later, because Agron managed to slip an invitation inbetween all the awkward innuendos he drops like verbal tics. His stomach feels like he spilled some funny drinks in it, and he's beginning to think maybe he dreamed about asking Nasir out, but never did, when he sees him walking down the street, like half a block away from him.

Agron starts smiling even before approaching him; Nasir is smiling, too, though he tries to hide it, tipping his head down.

"Hello there," Agron tells him, stuffing his hands deep into his jeans' pockets because if he doesn't, they'll sure enough try to get closer to Nasir's face, or his wonderful hair. "I was thinking maybe we could get some ice cream, instead of coffee? If it's alright with you?"

Nasir's face lits up.

"Ice cream sounds fantastic."

"Great," Agron grins, and spins on his heels to turn around and walk in the direction of the closest ice cream parlour. A step and a half later, he realizes he still hasn't said anything regrettable. "Because, you know what they say, little man. Coffee will stunt your growth."

Nasir half-turns to glare at him, then.

"Fucking idiot," he says, shaking his head, but he moves closer and his voice is warm, too.

Agron grins so hard it could split his lip, because Nasir said he doesn't mind fucking idiots; actually, he's quite the fan.


End file.
